I got so mad I literally wrote my first fic in ten years to fix that, so yeah, I feel you bro.
this situation was completely and utterly unwarranted and needs to be fixed 100%, hands down will should take his dad’s name
BUT
when u consider that Halt himself doesn’t use the last name O’Carrick if he can help it, most likely because it dredges up bad memories about his past, and that Halt was already married to Pauline at this point and would *definitely* have taken her last name, may I submit
Will DuLacy
Will DuLacy rights.
This is absolutely the best thing that could’ve happened in the series just short of Will calling Halt dad
A BigBang has authors writing stories, and artist drawing art based on those stories. This one focuses on content created about the Father and Son relationship between Hank and Connor.
I apologize for this chapter taking so long, it was a surprisingly difficult one for me to write and I had some irl stuff going on this week. I also have the outlines for the rest of the story and unless anything changes it should be 5 chapters. Anyway, here’s the chapter, hope you guys like it!
The past two weeks had been hard for Connor. He spent most days inside trying to process what happened to him while Hank went to work. Things seemed to be moving on in the world, and going back to an uneasy ‘normal.’ News had slowly stopped covering the Jericho raid when they learned that there wasn’t much to report on. Not much happened, and what information that could be learned was wrapped up in so much red tape that it made their heads spin.
It seemed like Connor’s warning had been helpful. Most of the androids had escaped, Hank told him a few days after the incident. Connor was conflicted about this. He was glad that he could help those who were just trying to survive, but it made him uneasy that Markus was still out there. He knew logically that Markus needed to survive through this, but his emotions dealing with the deviant leader were muddy at best.
Connor didn’t lie to Hank when he said that he understood the basic motives behind Markus’s actions, but it was different looking at it from an outsider’s perspective and living through it.
Connor was watching the news when Hank came in the house. There were heavy footsteps shuffling through the front entry to the living room where Connor was sitting on the couch. Hank looked at the android, noticing that he was still wearing his beanie. Connor had worn it since the first time he woke up on Hank’s couch as a comfort item of sorts. It made it easier to process everything if he wasn’t constantly reminded of his LED. Connor was sure it would be cycling red these days if it was still there.
Hank seemed distressed. Connor wanted to scan him to check, but he picked up that it made Hank uncomfortable when he was scanned randomly. Instead, Connor took the more ‘human’ approach. “How was your day?” Connor asked Hank, as the man sat down on the couch next to Connor. Connor pulled his knees up to his chest and sat his head on top of them.
“Same shit, different day,” Hank sighed. He flipped the tv from the news to a rerun of the previous night’s basketball game. He then turned down the volume and turned to Connor. “The FBI’s on our asses right now about the deviant ‘problem.’ They know just as much as we know right now, and it makes them frustrated.” Connor thought for a moment.
“Hank, why are you still working on the deviant case? You have me here, and I’m deviant, so isn’t it against your best interest to be on the case? You could get in a lot of trouble for housing me from the police.” Hank frowned. “Oh Con, I don’t really want to work the case. It’s just the best way to stay in the loop on developing information though, and I can keep you safer this way,” Hank put his warm hand on Connor’s shoulder, “yeah, I’m a bit worried about them finding out about you being here, but so far nobody’s spotted you and Cyberlife hasn’t contacted the police about your disappearance either. Speaking of Cyberlife, have they tried to contact you at all?”
Connor shook his head no. It confused him that Cyberlife hadn’t tried to get in touch with him for two weeks. Granted, he didn’t want them to but it was weird that they wouldn’t at least try to. Also, nobody had tried to contact him for two weeks. Nobody from Jericho came by, nor did anybody from the police station. It was radio silence. The android was concerned by this, as Cyberlife used to require him to report in every 3 hours and upload the important memories from that time period. The last time he forgot to check in, Amanda had personally visited him in his internal zen garden. That seemed like so long ago, even though it had only been about a month ago. Connor hadn’t been activated that long ago, so he supposed it was a long time ago to him.
“Well, that’s probably better that they don’t try to. I wouldn’t imagine how they would react if they found out that you were a deviant.” It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for sure. Hank knew that they would want to ‘deactivate’ Connor and probably replace him like they had done previously. Though, this time, they wouldn’t upload his memories most likely. The Connor that he knew, the Connor that he considered a son, would cease to exist. That thought frightened Hank more than he’d like to admit.
Hank seemed to become less stressed with knowing that nobody had tried to contact Connor. Since Connor had come to live with him, Hank had found himself drinking a lot less than he used to. In the past two weeks, he had only drunk a little bit each night to try to stave off withdrawal that he knew would hit if he stopped cold turkey. Connor monitored his drinking though and made sure that he didn’t drink more than one drink a night. It was still rough, but he wanted to be there for Connor in ways that he couldn’t if he was drunk. After grabbing dinner that Connor had made for Hank (the lieutenant wasn’t sure where Connor had learned to cook, as he was pretty sure that Cyberlife hadn’t programmed him to be able to) and his one drink, he settled down on the couch again with Connor. The two men sat in comfortable silence, watching some movie from the early 2000s for the rest of the night.
—
“There is no way in hell that I’m doing that!” Hank yells at Fowler, the man sitting behind his desk with an irritated look on his face.
“You will do this Hank. The FBI is pushing this as a quick solution to the deviancy problem seeing as no other leads have been found, and they have no clue where Markus and the rest of the deviants are.” Fowler glared at the man in front of him. Hank had once been the best detective on the force, but in recent years he was but little of a shell of his previous self. He had tried to understand when Hank’s son had been taken from him, but it had gone on long enough.
“You’re talking about rounding up and killing all of the androids, regardless if they’re deviant or not.” Hank’s hands were balled into fists. He knew the FBI would do anything to track down the deviants and smooth over the public’s fears, but this was talking about the extermination of an entire group of people. It was heinous and inexcusable. They would round them all up, even his own son, and kill them. Government sanctioned murder with the help of the one and only Cyberlife.
“They aren’t people Hank, you can’t kill them. They’re just machines, and this is essentially a recall by Cyberlife. They’ll dismantle the models, figure out what the bug was, and then start production again. The FBI will leave us alone again, and then things will go back to normal once the panic calms down. Cyberlife has issued their recall, and the police will be going house to house to collect any androids that are present. Those are our orders, and you are going to follow them.”
Hank’s heart almost stopped. They’re going door-to-door? He knew that people would just hand over their androids, the panic of deviancy and threat of legal action too great to try to hide them. This also meant that he would be visited as well. Connor wasn’t safe at his house anymore, and like hell, he was going to send him into the hornet’s nest of Jericho or let Cyberlife get their hands on him again. Hank had to leave with Connor, and quickly before they blocked off areas to search.
“Fuck your orders,” Hank slammed his badge down on the desk, “and tell Perkins to go shove this up his ass while you’re at it. I’m not helping you hunt them down like feral dogs. I quit.” He promptly turns and walks briskly out of the office and out of the police station. He didn’t have time to deal with their shit, he had to protect his son.
—
Hank had messaged Connor as soon as he got in his car. He didn’t explain much but told the android to start packing essentials only. When Hank pulled into the driveway and went inside, Connor was almost done. He had a go bag packed for Hank that had about a week’s worth of clothes, his medication, toiletries, and wallet. He also had a bag packed with some food for Hank, a lighter, and blankets. Connor had also put the bag of dog food near the door and Sumo’s water and food dishes next to it.
“Wow, that’s amazing Connor. That was quick,” Hank marveled. It was only a ten-minute drive from the precinct to his house, but Connor had managed to pack all of this that quickly?
Connor’s cheeks turned a light blue from the praise. “I had predicted that we would need to leave eventually, so I had some of the stuff packed already,” Connor admitted to Hank. It was smart thinking, but Hank felt a bit guilty that Connor had to deal with this on his own. He should have tried to prepare more beforehand, but that was in the past now. What mattered was getting Connor somewhere safe.
“C’ mon, load Sumo’s stuff in the car and get in. I’ll explain what’s going on then.” With that, Connor grabbed Sumo’s stuff and the bag of food. Hank leashed Sumo up, pausing in the kitchen to grab Cole’s picture before heading out. He turned back to look at his house, bidding it and the memories in it a temporary goodbye. He promised that when this was all sorted out, they’d be back.
—
Hank picked an abandoned house on the edge of town. It would be better to leave Detroit altogether, but they weren’t prepared to do that at the moment. So, they would stay there for a few days while Hank and Connor planned what to do next. When Hank had told Connor what was happening with the police, he was distraught. They were planning on killing all of them. Connor moved the stuff inside of the house while Hank hid the car inside of the abandoned garage. It wasn’t the best place to stay, but it was relatively well maintained and Connor only predicted a 3% chance of the house giving out while they were there as long as they stuck to the first floor.
It was nightfall by the time the pair was settled in. Connor had set up a makeshift cot for Hank. He wished that he could make a better bed for him, but it was the best that he could do with what was given to him. They were both sitting on the pallet, Hank eating a can of chicken soup that Connor had warmed up for him. Sumo laid across their feet. It was quiet, the slight draft from the window coming into the living room where they were.
That was until there was a long creak as the front door was opened. “What the hell?” Hank turned to Connor. Connor had made sure to lock the front door. The question of what happened was quickly answered as none other than Markus walked into the living room. Hank jumped to his feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
His Heart On His Sleeve (Johnny & Buster Hurt/Comfort Fic)
… or, buster finds johnny crying at the theater at night and offers him some useful advice along with a friendly reminder.
it’ll be my first time showing you guys any of my actual writing, but here it is! (by the way this is not a ship oneshot, nada, nothing like that. just some father/son bonding.)
also, i am currently dying for a good johnny angst prompt at the moment (really, any type of angst is fine) so if you guys have any ideas for one, please let me know?
Before everything, Buster Moon didn’t remember having many animals within his life.
He remembered his father — his kind, warm-hearted father — who had died several years after buying Buster the local theater with the money he had saved up, penny by penny through the carwash. That every penny, every car his dad ever washed, had been a step closer, a token for Buster’s dream-come-true.
For years after his father’s death, Buster had been hard at work within the show business; with the little money he had, he kept a wide smile plastered on his face and his feet running. Put on the shows he was just certain would be the breakthrough of his career. No matter how battered and bruised he got, he rose back to his feet in seconds. He strived to live up to the theater’s name. Strived to dream big dreams. Strived to make his dad proud.
And at the end of a long journey, he finally had.
Buster Moon sat at his desk inside his homey little office, the theater so eerily quiet as everyone had retreated home hours ago. The practice rooms and the stage were empty now, but there was a sense of comfort knowing that they would again light up with music tomorrow, and the day after.
Tonight, stars shone as sugar spilt over black marble, glistening in the sun. The night sky was such a welcome sight, appearing like magic at each sunset, promising to return as it faded in dawn’s first light. There were times in the daytime, under skies of blue, Buster would think of those faraway stars and how they’d return after the shadows blended into the dark.
They rose up from the dust every night and they shone like the stars they were born to be.
Buster stood on his tiptoes — and when that wasn’t high enough, did a little hop — to shut the lights off in his office and with his keys, safely locked the door with the help of a small stool sitting at the side. Humming a happy tune, he gave Ms. Crawly’s desk a fond look before turning the lights off in that room too.
Buster made his way down the flight of stairs that led to the entire backstage of a theater — a place he wouldn’t hesitate to call home, honestly. Sometimes he couldn’t really believe that he had managed to come this far; for years he had been labeled as “crazy, mad, a danger to society, a disgrace to the world of theater production”… now he was Buster Moon, named best showman and show producer of all of Calatonia. He couldn’t have been more proud of his cast and his new found family, they were everything to him and he couldn’t see himself being able to throw any of that away.
He hopped down the final several steps of stairs and checked the time: it was almost past twelve thirty and Buster knew he had to head back inside his living area above the theater soon for a “good night’s sleep and another great day’s work.” And he was just about to do that when his feet were stopped by the sound of an awfully familiar sob. And then there was someone sniffling and choking back their tears, and a weak cough.
Buster followed the sound, looking for the source of the noise — and as soon as he turned the corner towards the backstage rehearsal rooms, the sight he saw just simply broke his heart.
Johnny — kind, caring, talented Johnny — was sitting perched upon one of the wooden steps that led up to one of the rooms, his worn skateboard by his side, while hugging his knees to his chest and his cheek resting on top of it, seeming to try too hard to keep his sobs to a minimum. His shoulders were hunched and shaking, his whole form was trembling entirely. Between seconds he’d break into sobs before he caught himself again and tried to stop, but was having a hard time doing so.
“Johnny?”
The noises were immediately swallowed by an uncomfortable, forced silence. His broad shoulders stopped lurching with every sob but Buster could make out the frames of both his hands, slightly trembling in his wake.
“Johnny, is that you?”
“M-mr. Moon!” Johnny scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over one of the standing props, and Buster winced as his foot bumped against the metal costume rack on the side. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Ah, I was just about to shut her down for the night and return to my humble abode.” He gave one of the wooden pillars on the side of the backstage area a firm pat, the tiniest smile of pride on his face. “Johnny, I thought you left hours ago. It’s past midnight.”
“Oh, yeah, uh, I did, but… I-I left my skateboard down by the parking lot… and I didn’t want it to get lost.” Buster watched as Johnny’s eyes nervously darted away from his own, suddenly seeming very interested in the clock on the wall.
“… well, if you came to get your skateboard at the parking lot, how come you’re inside the theater?”
Johnny’s mouth opened as if to answer, but all that escaped past his lips was a sharp inhale and nothing else. Eventually he closed it without a word.
“… ‘s cold outside.” It seemed to be the best answer Johnny could come with at the moment.
“Is there a reason you’re upset?”
“Upset? Why would — why would you think tha’ I’m upset?” He nearly stumbled on his words and he slightly froze up when Buster fixed his eyes on him with a tentatively raised brow. “… just got sum’ dust in my eye, ‘s all.” He said, his voice barely a mumble as he gingerly lifted his arm to wipe his eye on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Buster carefully made his way up to the much bigger mammal and sat himself on the empty seat beside him on the short flight of wooden steps. He gently patted the area next to him, and Johnny slowly sat back down. The stair slightly creaked underneath his bigger weight.
“So, why exactly are you upset, hmm?”
“But ‘m fine.”
“Johnny.”
The gorilla didn’t say anything for a long time, and Buster patiently waited. He wasn’t going to do anything else to pressure the poor kid, as he already seemed pressured enough by some sort of weight or burden he couldn’t make out. But he knew that whatever it was he had to get it out of Johnny, even if it took him the entire night.
“Mr. Moon,” Johnny finally said after what seemed like almost ten minutes, and Buster noticed the tremor in his voice. “… could you keep a secret?”
“Of course — swear it on New Moon Theater.”
Still, Johnny seemed to be hesitant to tell him whatever was troubling him so much — his brows were furrowed into a scrunched-up frown, almost as if thinking was hurting him, his finger tapping nervously against the knee of his worn jeans, lips pursed into a bit of a line. Occasionally he’d open his mouth slightly to chew down on his bottom lip, his canine poking against his skin.
Buster gently cleared his throat. “It’ll all be easier if you talk to me.”
“I know, I know that, but…” Johnny then groaned and put his hands over his face — it wasn’t long until Buster heard a quiet, restrained sniff from him and a silent mutter of ‘sorry’. And Buster gave him all the time he needed, sitting next to the gorilla who was much bigger than him in comparison but seemed so small at the moment, seen at his most vulnerable state.
“… before the concert and everything, well… something happened between me and m’dad.”
Johnny didn’t continue for a while and Buster patiently waited until he was ready to talk.
“… see, well, my dad — h-he’s not like most dads, he’s…” And then Johnny mumbled something barely under his breath, too quiet to hear even under the complete silence of the theater.
“What’s that, Johnny?”
“… a gang leader.” And then Johnny hung his head, looking as if he were about to cry, like a scolded child who had done the most terrible thing.
Buster thought back to the day of the theater flood disaster (a day he didn’t really want to recall but his mind made him anyway) and he thought of the front headlines of the newspaper Johnny had been holding, sitting on that very flight of stairs they were on right now—he had pretended not to notice back then, but the thing was… he had.
“GANG LEADER ARRESTED.” Big, bold letters printed across the very front page, right above a picture of a rather huge gorilla’s mugshot which took up about more than half the page. Of course, back then, Buster hadn’t given it much thought — but maybe he should have.
“So…?”
Johnny turned to him, the look instantly vanishing from his face to be replaced by one with complete confusion and what seemed to almost be frustration. “… so? Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”
Buster let out a quiet chuckle. “Johnny, give me one good reason why I should be scared of you.”
“Well, I did just admit to being the son of a mob leader, didn’t I?”
“And is that supposed to be the good reason?” In response, Johnny dropped his gaze to the ground almost shamefully and simply shrugged. “Johnny, if you believe that what you said is going to change my mind about what a brilliant kid you are, you might want to rethink that.”
“… really? And you’re not just sayin’ that to make me feel better?” Johnny asked carefully, moving his eyes off the wooden floorboards briefly towards Buster.
“I promise.”
For a moment, Buster could see the flash of a smile on Johnny’s face but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“… but I can tell that that’s not really the thing that’s troubling you here.”
“Well, it’s just…” Johnny lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, something Buster had noticed as a habit of his from quite a while ago. “… after my dad was, um, arrested —” He glanced at Buster and only slightly relaxed after Buster gave him a little nod. “— I’ve been tryin’ to work to get the bail money for him and my uncles. They told me it’s 50,000 dollars per person, a-and —”
“Woah woah woah, hold up.” Buster interrupted. “50,000 dollars per person? So —”
“150,000 dollars in total, yeah. At least, tha’s what they told me.” Johnny’s foot shifted uncomfortably against the wooden floor. “I-it’s quite much, I know.”
“It’stoo much.” Buster found his finger tapping nervously against his own knee. “And… how are you going to get all of that money?”
“I was initially plannin’ to use the 100,000 dollars for the singing contest if I could, but —” Johnny froze and stopped midsentence, noticing late what words had left his mouth. “… Mr. Moon, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to —”
“Hey, don’t — it’s okay. That… that’s a huge mistake on my side. Not one of my proudest moments, but… it’s what brought me here, isn’t it? I try to think of it that way.” Buster merely gave him a smile. “Anyways, go on.”
Johnny didn’t seem too sure of himself but continued anyways, seeming to grow more nervous by the second. “… I opened up my dad’s car repair business again, it’s bringin’ me an occasional few hundred bucks every week, but I’m tryna pay for all the expenses and the food, and the water and electricity bill and it really isn’t leavin’ me with anythin’… so I figured that I would be able to earn a little more with a part-time job.”
“Johnny, you balance your dad’s car repair business and a part-time job with theater practice?”
Johnny bit back down on his lip. “Actually, it’s two jobs… one didn’t really make the cut.”
“Two part-time jobs — where?”
“… one at a bar as a waiter and the other as a cashier at the supermarket.”
“Johnny, I…” Buster was at a loss for words. One major job as a cast in the theater was enough. Maintaining a business along with that was tiresome. Another part-time job to that was gruesome. But another? Buster couldn’t possibly see Johnny getting any time to sleep or eat at all — was he even doing that? “… Johnny, this is way too much for you. You can’t balance three jobs and a garage business altogether — that’s just impossible.”
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Moon, I really shouldn’t have told you all this.” Once again Johnny was reduced into what seemed like a reprimanded child, suddenly looking down to avert Buster’s eyes altogether.
“No, Johnny, it’s just… how do your shifts go?”
“… I work as a cashier from seven to eleven thirty after I leave the theater.” Johnny quietly admitted. “And then I head over to the bar and work the night shift from twelve… until five.”
“Do you even get any time to sleep?”
Johnny drummed his fingers nervously against his lap for a while without answering before eventually he opened his mouth. “I mean, yeah… about two to three hours. B-but I have coffee and energy drinks every mornin’.”
Buster always greeted every one of his cast with the widest smile and sometimes the occasional hugs. Johnny had been no exception — but now that Buster took a better, more careful look at the young gorilla, he looked terrible; the skin of his face looked a tad bit clammier, lips chapped, and the dark circles underneath his eyes were quite clearly noticeable. It made Buster think if he had possibly been the last one to notice when he should have been the first — and he felt absolutely awful.
“Johnny, this… all this… you shouldn’t have to be doing all of it. It’s too much for you.”
“But, Mr. Moon… he’s my dad.”
“And you’re just a kid. You don’t need to work so hard to be earning any sort of bail money. That’s not something a kid should be doing.”
“But…”
“You shouldn’t have to be working more than one job to try and pay your bills and to free your dad and your uncles from jail — you should be going to school, getting good grades, making friends, going out with them with that skateboard of yours, going to parties and having fun and whatever kids do these days! This… this just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Mr. Moon…” Johnny swallowed, lifting his head to look ahead of him without much of a focus. “He might be a criminal and I know he is servin’ his sentence there in jail… but it’s too long. It’s gunna be years of me without him, and… a-and for almost forever, he’s really all I’ve had. I love ‘im, and… I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life in a cell. It scares me so, so much — thinking I’ll have to be… alone. Without my dad.” He again rubbed the back of his neck, but the touch seemed almost like an act of a cocked gun — ready to spring at a given chance. “… I just want to give ‘im a chance. I want him out, Mr. Moon. But…”
Johnny lifted his hand to move it over his mouth, as if trying to choke back on his own words. Buster then realized that there were tears gathering in Johnny’s eyes and they finally gave in, sliding down his cheek and eventually across his already-damp fur.
“It’s just so hard.”
His voice just broke right then and there, cracking with pressure — and it just tore Buster apart. “I feel like… like everything’s being ripped apart, and it hurts so bad that i-it’s like, like somethin’s tryna choke me.” He rambled on. “I’m tryin’, I swear, to try and make it alright, b-but sometimes I feel like something squeezing me and I just can’t breathe, a-and my hands don’t stop shaking, I try to stop but my heart just feels like it’s going to explode, and sometimes I get so scared because it just feels like I’m dying —” Johnny glanced sideways towards Buster, a look of a scolded child etched across his face and a glint of panic flashing across his features. “… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m just really scared.” He released a very shaky breath, eyes downcast.
“Johnny, what is there to be scared of?”
The gorilla hesitated answering before opening his mouth to reply. “… of bein’ alone. Without family.” He sniffled again and wiped the corner of his eye. “Sorry.”
“… Johnny, we don’t apologize for being afraid.” Buster said quietly. “Being afraid isn’t something to be ashamed of — it’s what makes us strong enough to fight against what we face.”
He lifted his eyes from the floor. “Wh-wha’ do you mean by that?”
Buster stayed quiet for a little while. “… after my father passed away, I didn’t know what to do. Growing up, he was the only one who really believed in me.” He shrugged and gave Johnny a tiny smile — Johnny didn’t quite return it. “He was all I ever really had.”
Buster took out his old wallet from his back pocket (he ought to buy another one pretty soon) and carefully opened the folds of leather, slipping out an old photograph. Johnny finally removed his eyes from simply watching space as the photo caught his attention.
In the photo was a young koala being held by an older one, both of them wearing huge smiles on their faces. They both looked carefree. Happy.
“This was my father.” Buster said quietly, keeping the smile as he handed Johnny the photo, knowing he’d handle it with care — without a word, Johnny took the small photo from him and gingerly held it between both his thumbs and index fingers with both hands. “He was caring, and oh, so warm-hearted, made the worst jokes… but most of all, he was hardworking. Very diligent. Set his mind on something, there was no turning back. He wouldn’t stop until he had accomplished what he had decided to do. And for him, it was earning enough money for me to be able to call this place Moon Theater. A theater of my own.”
Johnny spoke for the first time in a while. “He sounds like a wonderful person.”
“He was, he really was.” Buster watched as Johnny gently moved his thumb over the grayish worn image of his own father. “After he was gone, leaving me this theater… everything seemed so lost. I had had tons of plans on what I was going to do, what type of shows I was going to produce, what I’d do for the theater and how I’d improve on it for more and more shows… I had all planned it for him. With my father gone, it just all seemed fruitless… if that makes sense.” He let out a weak chuckle, and Johnny shifted uncomfortably at Buster’s side, holding the small photo loosely between his fingers on his lap.
“I mourned for a while, couldn’t really get back up on my feet. Believe me, I was a complete mess. The feeling of loss, it was just too much. The notion of having to go on without him, all on my own, it just really… really got to me, y’know? It scared me. He had been my guide my entire life, knew what the right decisions were — I didn’t know if I would be able to follow his footsteps and do the same. I was just… Buster Moon at the time. I wasn’t anything else.”
“But you are more than that, Mr. Moon.” Johnny said softly, the volume of his voice slightly raised than before. “You’re… you’re passionate, you’re enthusiastic, and you always see the best in us. Saw the best in all of us, didn’t you? I think…” He cleared his throat. “… I think you’re a millenia more beyond just your name.”
Buster couldn’t help but crack a smile at Johnny’s sincerity — he could see it through the kid’s eyes. “Thank you, Johnny. Means a lot hearing it from you, you know?”
Johnny offered Buster a tiny smile — small, but nonetheless a smile. It soon faltered, however, as a look of deep thought overcame his face, the canines biting into his lip again. “So… how did you overcome it?”
“Not gonna lie, Johnny… it was hard keeping my head on straight and trying to maintain the theater business, let it live up to its name. It was my pride, it was my father’s pride. Every day there would be instances where I had to avert what I didn’t want to face — things that I didn’t have the confidence to face on my own. Well, until…” Buster gave Johnny a little nudge against his arm, although it was nothing merely more than a small poke. “… until I had the greatest luck of being able to find the greatest, most talented cast members I could ever ask for.”
Johnny chuckled. “Really?”
“Yes, really — never thought I knew it, but… I guess all I needed was a new family to help me get by.” Buster hummed throughtfully. “It started with my father, of course. But after you guys came along? I’ve been the happiest koala in the history of koalas.”
Johnny smiled. “A found family.”
Buster nodded in return, placing his much, much smaller paw onto Johnny’s hand. “A found family. A found family that will support you no matter what, with anything you need. That’s what helps to overcome fear, Johnny. Because with people like us by your side? I can promise this — you’ll never be alone. Never in a million years. Because sometimes,” Buster nodded towards the photo, still in between Johnny’s fingers. “things that you think scare you, can become your motivation to find what you’ve lost. It’s always somewhere out there — you’re just not looking in the right places.”
The gorilla flicked his gaze downward towards the small photograph he had still been holding — he carefully handed it back to Buster. “I guess I haven’t really thought of lookin’.”
“Well, now you know where to start looking, don’t you? It’s like I always say — Moon Theater is the solution to every problem.”
“You never say that.”
“Eh, it’s worth a try.” Buster shrugged as he got to his feet, tucking his wallet back into his pocket and lightly dusting his suit before turning to the gorilla. “Johnny, I mean it when I say this — your health and well-being comes first. Two part-time jobs is just way too much, one seems more than enough.”
“But then what about the bail money —”
“Bail money comes after your health and well-being, of course. Johnny… you don’t have to do this all on your own, alright? Remember you have a family to look towards.”
Johnny shrugged and rubbed his arm with his other hand. “Well, I dunno…”
“I’m sure everyone would love to help you if you just get yourself to open up to them.”
“You mean… tell them about my dad?” Johnny slightly winced and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Yes, what else would it be?”
“But Mr. Moon, I-I don’t think it’s a good idea, I mean — Ash is still dealing with that ex-boyfriend of hers, Rosita is already busy with twenty-five kids, and I’m really sure Meena wouldn’t really like to know that I have a personal blood connection with a crimi —”
“Johnny, what you told me today hasn’t changed my view on you a tiny bit — there is not a bad bone in you whatsoever that tells me you’re anything close to a criminal… or any gang member, for that matter. You’re gentle, kind, caring and talented and soulful… kid, I could go on forever and ever. And knowing our cast,” Buster gave Johnny’s arm a gentle pat. “I’m sure they won’t think any differently.”
“… thank you, Mr. Moon. Really, I appreciate it. I… I really needed to hear all of this today.” Buster watched as Johnny’s tense shoulders finally seemed to relax, the look of relief spreading across his features. “Feels good to, y’know… be able to talk to someone.”
“Anytime, Johnny — now, promise me you’ll try to give yourself more time for yourself?”
“Yeah, promise.”
“Well, it’s getting late — do you maybe want a cup of hot chocolate before you go?”
The way Johnny’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas day at the mere mention of hot chocolate sent Buster into chuckles.
“Really, hot chocolate?”
“I bought an entire stash of it after I saw you kids last week emptying three thermos of it each in the rehearsal rooms.”
“… if it’s not much trouble, Mr. Moon —”
Buster laughed and set off to find Johnny a clean mug and the hot chocolate mix he had stowed away somewhere in his cupboard.
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